Free The Wizard of Anharitte by Colin Kapp Page B

had not been won. Ren roused him from his chair, knowing the worst had best be told without delay.
    ‘We have to go immediately to the prefecture to register the bond.’
    ‘Register?’ Vestevaal’s eyes refocused on Ren in an instant. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
    ‘I mean that the Imaiz played with us as he might with fools. You now own Zinder.’
    ‘Own Zinder?’ Vestevaal appeared to sober himself by a tremendous effort of will. ‘I see! And how much did this—ah—acquisition cost us, Tito?’
    ‘Fourteen barrs to the tenth power,’ said Ren, being deliberately obtuse to soften the shock.
    ‘What in hell is that in terms of money?’
    Ren bent over his office calculator and converted the figures first to duodecimal galactic credits and then to the Terran ten-based notation which the director handled more happily. Vestevaal watched him steadily, sensing in Ren’s actions a certain reticence that foretold of trouble.
    ‘Well?’
    Ren had finished the calculations and was examining the printout, wondering how to present it in the best light.
    ‘You’d better sit down again,’ he said. ‘Would you believe about two hundred million million Solar dollars?’
    For a moment the director appeared in danger of suffering a seizure. At last he swore. ‘You could buy two battle cruisers for less. Tito—have you any idea how I’m going to explain that sort of expenditure to the Free Trade Council? What are you trying to do—ruin me?’
    ‘No, but I think it’s a reasonable certainty that the Imaiz is. He promised to teach you a lesson. I guess this is it. But I still think we’ve hit him where it hurts. After all, we’ve got Zinder.’
    ‘Where is she?’ asked Vestevaal. The color was slowly coming back into his cheeks. ‘Do you have her?’
    ‘She’s outside with Catuul and the guard.’
    ‘Then fetch her in—fetch her in! Where’s your hospitality, Tito? It’s not every day you get the chance to entertain somebody who’s worth more than all your Company executives rolled into one.’
    Ren called for Zinder. Unlike Ren, Magno Vestevaal was in no doubt as to how she should be treated. He borrowed Ren’s sword to cut the halter from her neck, then handed her into a chair as though she were a queen. She took the incident completely unabashed. Already she seemed to have, established with Vestevaal a degree of rapport that reached to depths Ren could not envision. She accepted wine and fell into a quiet conversation with the director until Ren was forced to interrupt, fearing if they further delayed they would become overdue for registering her bond.
    The remainder of the journey to the prefecture was in marked contrast with that from the slave market. Magno Vestevaal led the way, engaged in earnest conversation with the slave girl on his arm, while Ren and Catuul followed disconsolately at their heels. The four armsmen had dispersed themselves fore and aft of the group, swords drawn and ready for trouble, since Catuul still feared an ambush or an interference designed to delay the registration of the bond. The director, however, ridiculed the idea of potential trouble and refused even to remain consistently within the shield of guards. He was right—inasmuch as they arrived at the grim portals of the prefecture without any sign of unwanted intervention.

EIGHT
    The prefecture was bustling with people. Watchmen were returning or departing on duty—clerks were fetching and carrying their massive volumes and a small mob around the slave registry was presumably waiting to see the registration of Zinder. Ren was not surprised to see Barii, the Imaiz ’s slave-caste steward in the group—and Dion-daizan himself. Everyone turned to watch as the director and his costly prize came across the threshold.
    Dion-daizan made a bow of courtesy to Magno Vestevaal, which the latter good-humoredly returned. The director seemed in remarkably good spirits, having regained his equilibrium completely after his shock